Blogging IS Bitchin’

Come think about it, it’s about that time of the year to spring-clean my friends list again, much like how I delete people off my Friendster once every so often.

Some individuals are just detrimental to my sanity and my health. Some just stay friendly to leach off me one way or another. Some are just… non-friends masquerading as friends.

But I think I might be too weary to actually be arsed to do anything about everything. Not that I’ve actually been actively catching up with anyone recently, friends or otherwise, been getting increasingly anti-social of late, which is in direct contrast to the festive season occuring right now, but what the hell, I’ve been feeling too exhausted to deal with anything other than dragging myself out of bed of late.

So, well… just so you know, yeah, I know, I’m just not motivated enough to be a potty-mouthed smarty-pants. Or blatantly bitchy, depending on who you are. Yes, go ahead, be a prat if it makes you feel much better, I shall leave you in relative peace.

And if anyone really wants to know, depression feels like… hurt. A constant, nagging, throbbing hurt, just to live that extra minute. Hence the lethargy – apparently just pretending to be sane is a task requiring Herculean effort, so hell no, don’t tell me it’s just a phase, not when it hurts a bitch just to stay in touch with reality.

When it hurts all the time nothing really matters anymore, and once again it’s just… cold, in this big black void.

There’s no secret garden, really, just an uninviting hell of the endothermic variety.

It’s just like how my sister Jen puts it – being home is like being in the middle of a damn battlefield, with verbal bullets flying freely around in the air.

I’ve always had to answer queries on my apparent role of the prodigal daughter of the family. Maybe it’s true, I really shouldn’t shrug off my responsibilities as the eldest. But living in the crossfire of my parents’ constant bickering is unpleasant, painful, and downright traumatic.

Especially if one’s expected to play the damn role of impromptu marriage counsellor to the two people who should have been role models to my sisters and I instead of causing so much chaos in a house that doesn’t feel much like home anymore at times like this.

I’m no one to judge, but I’m getting effing weary and completely exasperated at how it seems to be yet another repetition of every issue brought up the last tiff; how I don’t see how either are right, yet cannot completely remain apathetic to their perspectives; how it can feel so lonely, having to sit out yet another cold war where the atmosphere can get frostier than the Antartica; and how completely unnecessary all this really is.

Maybe it’s because their relationship dramas don’t come close to the severity of my own, but I find this mindless bickering downright stupid and childish and completely unnecessary. It’s frustrating. Two grown-ups married over two fucking decades should’ve learned how to settle minor disagreements in a more sensible way by now, instead of blowing shit out of proportion and making mountains out of mole-hills.

This year’s reunion dinner was just… shit. And I left the house after being made utterly miserable by how it all went.

I’ve got too much on my own plate to want to have anything to do with this endless reenactment of domestic dischord. It’s not like I don’t have my own crap to worry about, in fact, compared to my own burdens, these two warring middle-aged people have absolutely NO reason for all this drama.

Maybe it’s because it’s just that that’s the cause of all this madness – and they’re really two bored middle-aged people throwing temper tantrums for the heck of it, because there’s nothing much left to say or do. I don’t know. And I really shouldn’t give a flying fuck about the reasons behind the escalating tension at home…

I’m lonely in my silence, and frightened, and terribly depressed, but it does feel like I’ve nobody to turn to. I’m chronically tired and I’m just feeling hurt all the time, and there’s no way I can seem to verbalise the all these emotions to anyone, so I paint on this painfully fake smiley face, and continue going through the motions of everyday life, but it’s getting to the point where I… so badly just want to break down and cry.

And there’s no one I really want to confide in, nobody I can trust to listen to my myriad of concerns and remain objective and understanding and supportive, nobody I know that won’t just deal me a few sound slaps and tell me to get a grip on myself and straighten up my life somehow.

So I wrap my arms around myself and give myself a hug.

Maybe when I open my eyes again sanity might just be restored to my world, and my upside-down universe of bewilderment and uncertainty might just make some sense.